


Normal

by shakti108



Series: Mingling [2]
Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: 1980s, Angst and Humor, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 09:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakti108/pseuds/shakti108
Summary: Jon and Richie learn some important lessons fromThe Facts of Life





	Normal

**Author's Note:**

> Actual dialogue taken from an episode of _The Facts of Life._ Thanks, Internet.

Jon halted, bag in hand, just inside the doorway to the hotel room. It was late -- well, morning to normal people -- and he was ready to collapse and sleep until the gig that night.

Except he couldn't, because Richie had already face-planted onto the bed closest to the door.

And after a thousand hotel rooms, Jon had thought they were both clear on one thing: _He_ got the bed on the left, and Richie was to his right. Just like on stage, except with sleeping.

It wasn't that he'd consciously set it up that way. Jon had just always chosen his bed first, and that's how it organically unfolded.

He cleared his throat. "Why are you in that bed?"

Richie mumbled something into the pillow.

Jon put his bag down. "What?"

Richie turned his head to the side, but kept his eyes closed. "This is where sleeping happens."

Jon crossed his arms. "I know, but why _that_ bed?"

Richie just made a sleepy noise. A totally fake one.

Jon hefted his bag again. "Fine. I'll take the other one."

Richie made another unintelligible sound.

"No problem," Jon continued, letting his bag drop between the beds with a thud. "I could sleep anywhere right now."

That got a _hmm_ in response.

He kicked his sneakers off and fell into bed, the wrong bed. For a while, he simply stared at the ceiling, thinking about how weird it was hearing Richie breathing from his left.

It also occurred to him how weird he was for noticing.

But he was who he was. And since road life could sometimes be an unholy shit show, he counted on certain things to stay the same. Like Richie being to his right.

Jon listened to him breathe until it evened out into a steady rhythm. The bastard could sleep under any conditions, and Jon had always been a little envious of that.

He closed his eyes and waited for his mind to settle a bit. He was bone-tired, but as usual his thoughts kept whirling. There was always too much going on -- the constant travel, the performance anxiety that never quite went away, the partying, the groupies.

Oh, and then there was the fact that he and his guitarist had spent the previous afternoon licking each other. That was new.

Jon rubbed his eyes.

It almost seemed too bizarre to have really happened. But he was pretty sure he hadn't imagined the sensation of Richie's tongue on his skin -- an alternative that was just as disturbing.

And he was fairly certain he, himself, had casually mentioned blow jobs.

_Oh god._

It was so wrong, for so many reasons. And maybe the worst part was, he had no idea how Richie felt about it now. After the show last night, they'd all stayed out till dawn, caught a couple hours of sleep then jumped on the bus to the next city -- Pittsburgh? So he and Richie hadn't been able to talk, assuming they actually would. Ever.

Richie had started the whole lick-fest, of course. But the reality was, he said and did a lot of things on impulse. Jon had learned that right from the start.

_Fuck._

He turned onto his side, away from Richie. He needed to sleep -- not think, not talk, and absolutely not … mingle.

About thirty seconds later, his eyes flew open.

"Fuck it," he muttered, pushing to his feet.

A hot shower. That would make everything better, or at least drown out the sound of Richie breathing in the other bed.

 

*****

 

Jon wasn't sure how long he stood under the shower, but by the time he stepped out of the bathroom, Richie was up and watching TV.

"You're awake?" he asked, realizing it was stupid only after the words were out.

Richie didn't seem to notice. "Yep," he replied, eyes glued to what appeared to be a rerun of _The Facts of Life._

"Ugh," Jon objected, moving to his bag to grab a t-shirt and sweats.

"It's the lesbian episode," Richie explained.

"Oh."

Jon started to slip his towel from his waist, then froze. He and Richie got dressed around each other all the time. But suddenly he felt weird about it.

"You done in there?" Richie's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah," Jon said, still clutching his towel.

Richie got up, grabbed his little bag of hair care essentials, and went into the bathroom without another word.

"You're gonna miss the best part," Jon called after him, just before the shower turned on.

_Shit._

That wasn't a good sign. It wasn't like Richie to be so terse, and Jon couldn't help wondering if he was already regretting what happened. If Jon were honest, he couldn't say whether _he_ regretted it. Which was scary as hell.

Because he probably should, right?

Jon blew out a breath as he pulled his clothes on. Onscreen, the bitchy blonde -- Blair? -- was talking to the other blonde who always wore a baseball cap.

He sat down on the edge of his bed.

_What's with all the touching and hugging other girls?_ the bitch asked the tomboy. _And the 'I love you's'? It's not normal._

The tomboy looked shocked. _I don't mean anything by it._

The bitch gave her the eye. _Well, you better start thinking about what you mean._

"Tell her to fuck off," Jon said to the screen.

But the tomboy didn't say that. She just stood there, dumbfounded, until the scene faded.

"God, I hate this show," Jon grumbled, getting up to grab the remote from the other bed.

He heard the water shut off, and a minute later Richie emerged, holding a towel around his waist. Jon pretended to be very interested in the selection of late-morning programming in front of him.

"I changed the channel," he said, resolutely keeping his eyes on the TV. "Do you mind?"

"Yes."

Jon turned his head but aimed his gaze at the carpet. He didn't know why. Richie was still wearing the towel -- and Jon had seen him stark-naked a hundred times anyway. But again, he just felt weird.

"I had the remote first," Richie said, rifling through his bag. "And I was watching the very special lesbian episode of _The Facts of Life._ "

Jon rolled his eyes. "Fine."

He flipped back just in time to see Mrs. Garrett was now confronting the tomboy. Jon tossed the remote aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. This seemed like an important scene.

He heard the other bed squeak as Richie flopped down.

_Maybe Blair's right about me,_ the tomboy said.

Mrs. Garrett made a confused face.

_I'm always touching and hugging other girls, and I don't care about boys,_ the tomboy explained. _It's weird. I've gotta stop._

Now Mrs. Garrett looked upset.

_Don't you dare,_ she said. _There's nothing wrong with touching or hugging. It's how you show you're a loving person. The only people who'll tell you it's wrong are the ones who can't reach out and do it themselves._

Jon glanced at Richie, who was lying on his back, blinking at the ceiling.

"I thought you wanted to watch this."

"I'm listening to it," Richie murmured.

Jon felt himself becoming agitated. He knew he needed to say something, but he was afraid of being too direct. So he settled on some general bitching.

"Why are you being so mopey?"

"I'm not. I'm reflecting on Mrs. Garrett's words."

Jon opened his mouth to respond, but then thought better of it. He'd wait for Richie to cave, because he always did.

Onscreen, the tomboy was saying that her dad had explained sex to her. He'd said sex was like a garden and when you love someone, you have to put fertilizer on them and be patient.

Jon peered at the TV. _The fuck?_

That was followed by some nonsense about a time-clock and waiting for things to evolve naturally.

Finally, Richie sighed, drawing Jon's attention again.

"You know," he said calmly, still gazing at the ceiling. "I'll bet that if the deer always took the bed on the left, and one day the fox got into it, the deer would just get in with him."

Jon could only stare at first. That had to be a joke. The fucking Facts of Life made more sense.

"So," he ventured, slowly. "You mean when you took that bed, you wanted me to get in with you?"

Richie sighed again, more dramatically. "Yes, you moron."

Jon bristled at the words. "Then why didn't you just say so?"

Richie looked at him in disbelief. "I couldn't _say_ it. What would I say?" He pulled on his t-shirt to emulate tits. "Oh Jonny, will you get in with me?"

Jon rolled his eyes. "Well," he said, raising his voice, "words would've helped. How was I supposed to know?"

"Well," Richie mimicked him, "I thought that after all the licking yesterday, my intentions would be clear."

Jon gaped. _For Christ's sake._

"What was I supposed to think?" he demanded. "You were just lying there."

No reply.

"OK," Jon said, "just so I'm clear … From now on, I should assume that if you're lying somewhere near me, you wanna be licked?"

Richie worked his jaw. "Yes," he said, after a beat.

Even from his vantage point, Jon could see Richie's lips twitching. So again, he waited.

_Five, four --_

Richie burst out laughing even faster than he'd expected. Jon bit the insides of his cheeks, then walked over to the bed to hover over his friend.

"You're an idiot," he proclaimed.

" _Well,_ " Richie replied, smiling, "you're apparently dumber than a deer."

Jon was about to level another insult when a different thought struck him. "Wait," he said. "Why do you get to be the fox?"

Richie interlaced his hands behind his head on the pillow. "Isn't it obvious?"

Jon pulled a face. "Because you're crazy?"

Richie kept smiling. "C'mon. You're the deer. Deer are soft and pretty."

"Fuck you," Jon said reflexively. Then he let the statement sink in. "Did you just say you think I'm pretty?"

Richie pushed onto his forearms and gave a little shrug. "I have eyes."

Jon couldn't help smiling, even though he felt ridiculous.

Richie looked at him pointedly. "Are you just gonna keep standing there? It's creepy."

"Uh, you're the one talking about woodland critters in bed." He shooed Richie with his hand. "Shove over."

Richie shifted to make room and Jon climbed into bed with a sigh, like it was a chore. He couldn't help it. They always gave each other a hard time, and keeping up the habit made this whole thing feel less insane.

He laid on his side to face Richie, and almost immediately realized he had no idea what to do next. If he were in bed with a girl, he'd lean in for a kiss.

But for all the mingling they'd done the day before, they hadn't properly kissed. And Jon didn't know if that was part of their … whatever the fuck this was.

Richie was also lying on his side, looking at him expectantly.

_Shit._

He'd been hoping Richie would make the first move again. But it looked like it was up to him this time.

Jon scooted a little closer and hesitantly reached out to cup Richie's cheek, half-expecting to have his hand swatted away. But Richie just kept looking at him. So Jon closed his eyes and moved in for a tentative kiss.

When he didn't get slugged, he took it as a green light and started to move his lips against Richie's.

He was surprised when a shiver rolled through him at the gentle contact. He'd assumed it would feel strange to kiss a guy, with all the stubble and masculine scents. But Richie's lips were softer than he would've guessed, and they were definitely receptive. So Jon decided to go for broke and slip his tongue into Richie's mouth.

It was apparently a good move, because Richie instantly melted and rolled onto his back, pulling Jon down on top of him. He widened his legs and Jon moved to kneel between them, taking advantage of his position to deepen the kiss.

With every little touch and soft sigh, Jon noticed, the situation felt less and less weird. Maybe this wasn't so wrong, he told himself.

And then he felt a hand roam down to squeeze his ass. Jon abruptly broke the kiss and barely suppressed an embarrassingly high-pitched sound.

Richie looked at him innocently. "Am I being too forward?"

Jon swallowed, trying to gain control over his voice. "Uh, no. You're good."

"Good?" Richie wrinkled his nose. "I called you pretty. You should at least tell me how foxy I am."

Jon snorted. "Absolutely not. I would never use that word."

"OK," Richie chuckled. "What word then?"

Jon groaned. "I dunno. Stop fishing for compliments. Are you a fourteen-year-old girl?"

"You better hope not."

Richie pulled him down again and they continued to explore each others' skin with almost-chaste little kisses. Eventually, Jon stopped to catch his breath, laying his head on Richie's chest.

He felt fingertips at the back of his head, moving through the still-wet strands.

"You wanna go slow, right?" Richie asked quietly.

Jon bit his lip. He honestly had no idea what he wanted. All he knew was, his hands were drifting down to pull at the hem of Richie's shirt.

OK, maybe he had some idea of what he wanted. But there was also a steady drumbeat of uncertainty -- an insistent voice telling him that what he wanted was wrong. Jon wasn't sure whose voice it was, and he didn't know how to shut it out, either.

Richie made a _hmm_ sound. "I can't help noticing you're trying to take my shirt off again."

Jon stilled his hands, and Richie quickly put one of his own hands on Jon's. "No, I didn't mean … Sit up, OK?"

Jon shifted so Richie had some room to maneuver, then watched as he whisked his shirt off and tossed it aside.

Richie looked at him with a sly smile. "Better?"

Jon felt himself starting to blush as he let his gaze move down his friend's body. Since his hair was still wet, he couldn't hide behind it, which pissed him off a little.

"S'alright," Jon replied dismissively.

Richie just kept smiling. "I feel rude being the only one shirtless."

"Can't have that," Jon agreed, hearing a sudden hoarseness in his voice.

He pulled his shirt off, and then just sat there. Like an idiot.

_Christ._

He hadn't been a virgin for a long time, and it was humiliating to be acting like one now.

Richie's smile softened as he looked Jon in the eyes. "There's nothing wrong with touching, Jonny," he said mildly.

Jon raised an eyebrow. "I doubt Mrs. Garrett meant this."

Richie gave him an odd look. "I disagree," he mumbled as he dove in for a kiss, hungrier than before.

Jon suddenly found himself on his back, being straddled.

_Fuck._

Any coherent thoughts started to fade as Jon felt those pliant lips drag down the side of his neck, to the hollow of his throat. Almost immediately, the heat from their skin-on-skin contact verged on overwhelming -- much more intense than with any girl, Jon realized.

Richie began to kiss a trail along his chest, pausing to tease one of his nipples with a flick of the tongue. Jon felt his whole body go rigid and heard some kind of whimpering sound, though he could only assume he'd made it. He was oddly disconnected from his senses -- except for the little electric pulses that jolted him each time Richie touched his skin.

He was panting by the time Richie moved up to nuzzle his neck.

"Jonny?" The hot breath against skin made his toes curl. "You can touch me."

It was only then that Jon realized he'd been clutching the sheets with both hands.

_Jesus Christ._

He eased his death grip on the bedding and brought his hands to Richie's shoulders, finding that he was radiating heat like a fucking furnace. Jon thought about making a wisecrack, but decided he had better things to do.

Funny thing about that voice in his head. It started to grow distant as soon as Jon ran his palms along Richie's back, feeling that expanse of smooth skin. Like he was replacing the stories with something tangible.

Richie moaned lowly, and Jon's cock jumped a little at the sound. He instantly wanted to hear it again.

He held his breath as he slid his hands under the waistband of Richie's sweats and started to knead the soft skin of his ass, not sure what kind of reaction he'd get. When he heard another little moan, he automatically pressed his hips up to get some relief for his cock.

Richie inhaled sharply. "God, Jonny."

Jon froze. "You want me to stop?"

"No, I …" Richie's breathing was getting ragged, and Jon could feel his muscles trembling slightly.

He moved his hands up to Richie's back again, then nudged him until they were both lying on their sides, facing each other.

"Was that OK?" Jon asked, feeling self-conscious all over again. "I didn't mean -- "

"No, no," Richie insisted, his cheeks starting to color. "It was fine. I just wasn't expecting …" He sighed. "Sorry."

"S'okay," Jon murmured. "I kinda went from zero to sixty."

Richie chuckled. "Kind of."

"Lemme try again," Jon whispered, leaning in for a kiss with no hesitation this time. The more contact, the less noise in his head.

_More contact,_ he repeated to himself, as he gently pushed Richie onto his back and found that sensitive spot behind his ear. He reached down to glide his fingertips over a nipple, and Richie let out a little gasp as he shamelessly arched into the touch.

Jon grinned and moved his lips close to Richie's ear. "You're sooo easy. Maybe that can be my word for you."

Richie _tsked._ "You get 'pretty,' and I get 'easy'?"

Jon responded by laying a few feather-light kisses along Richie's neck to his collarbone, before moving down to replace his teasing fingertips with his mouth. He circled his tongue around the little nub a few times before latching on and sucking hard, the way he liked it.

"Christ," Richie hissed, grabbing Jon's wet hair -- which hurt like hell.

Jon lifted up a bit. "Tell me what you want," he said, surprising himself with the urgency in his own voice.

"C'mere."

Jon crawled up a bit and buried his head in the curve of Richie's neck.

"I, uh," Richie began, haltingly.

Jon waited and then almost jumped when he felt Richie's knuckles brush over his cock through his sweats.

"Oh," Jon replied, in such a dopey way he would've laughed if he weren't so fucking turned on. "You wanna …"

"Uh-huh. I've got stuff in my bag … if you wanna."

"Uh-huh," was all Jon could manage.

"OK." Richie slid out from under him, and Jon instantly felt a chill -- whether from the loss of body heat or the anticipation he didn't know.

When Richie returned, he was holding a tube of lubricant in his palm like it was a Faberge egg. Again, Jon would've laughed if he weren't so worked up.

He grabbed the lube and squeezed a generous amount into his hand. "You sure?" he asked, unable to look at Richie as he passed the tube to him.

"Yeah," Richie said, and the shakiness in his voice made Jon feel oddly better.

They both lay down on their sides, and Jon was about to say something when Richie yanked his waistband down and took hold of him -- with a surety that almost took Jon's breath away.

Richie squeezed him hard and then began to stroke with an exquisitely perfect pressure.

"Fuck," he gasped, as Richie's hand continued to slide over him, squeezing and pulling just the way Jon would …

Of course, he thought dimly. Richie was a guy, after all.

"Jonny," he heard Richie say, with a slightly desperate edge to his voice. "You can touch me."

"Shit," Jon panted. "Sorry."

He pushed Richie's sweats down just enough to take him in hand, and the groan he got in response sent a shudder through Jon's body. It was undeniably awkward, he thought -- with their hands knocking as if they were fighting -- but it was also unbelievably hot.

Jon swung one of his legs over Richie's so they could wriggle in closer. And somehow they started to find a rhythm with each other -- even though Jon was having a hell of a time concentrating on the task at hand. He wanted to just swim in the sounds of Richie's little groans and whimpers and the sensations from his insanely dexterous hand.

He leaned his forehead on Richie's shoulder, suddenly paralyzed by the waves of pleasure rolling through him.

"Rich," he managed to rasp. And then he was groaning and spilling into Richie's hand.

"Jesus god."

"S'okay," Richie said. "Let it go."

Jon took a few gulps of air, trying to recover.

"It's OK," Richie repeated, breathing hard now. "I've got it."

"No," Jon almost growled, swatting Richie's hand away. "I've got you."

He felt a little dizzy as he tried to find his rhythm again. But he was determined to do it. He wanted to be the one who pushed Richie over the edge.

Jon wasn't sure why he was so possessed by the thought, and he definitely didn't care to examine it. Especially not when he could listen to those needy little sounds instead.

He felt Richie's body tense, and then hands gripping his shoulders.

"God, Jonny," he moaned, just before he came.

They lay curled against each other for a while, though the body heat had become uncomfortable and the messiness of the situation was clear. Jon was always too drained after sex to do anything but pass out, and he couldn't imagine Richie being any different.

Of course, before yesterday he couldn't have imagined this.

Eventually, Richie did move, just enough to grab his still-damp bath towel from the floor. They both used it to clean up, and Richie dumped it on carpet again.

Jon watched him as he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

He figured Richie would drift off right away, so he was surprised when he spoke instead.

"Do you really think it's wrong?" Richie asked, eyes still closed.

Jon blinked. "What?"

Richie opened his eyes and angled his head toward Jon. "You said she didn't mean _this._ Like this isn't OK."

Jon felt his gut clench, but he decided to quash it with sarcasm. "Are you sure you wanna talk about Mrs. Garrett right now?"

Richie looked skyward again. "I'm not talking about TV characters. I'm talking about you."

Jon opened and closed his mouth. He didn't know what to say.

"Well," he began, "it does feel … weird, right? I mean, it's not normal -- for either of us."

Richie bit his bottom lip. "Do you mean it's weird being with a guy? Or being with me?"

Jon wasn't sure he understood the question. "Well, you're the only guy I ever ... So yeah, I guess it feels a little weird being with you."

"OK," Richie said to the ceiling.

The twisting in Jon's belly intensified. "But that's OK, right? I just don't feel completely …" He let the statement trail off because there was no good way to finish it.

So he changed tactics. "Don't you feel weird about it?"

Richie chewed on his lip some more before answering. "I've never even thought about another guy before. So yeah, the concept, or whatever, is weird."

He tilted his head toward Jon but didn't look at him. "You're the only one. I dunno … I guess I just feel good with you."

He turned his head again and closed his eyes.

Jon felt a lump in his throat and didn't trust himself to speak. Because he kind of hated himself right now. He wanted to tell Richie this felt completely right, but he also couldn't lie to him.

Still, he needed to say something.

"I -- I've never thought about another guy, either," he said.

Richie opened his eyes.

"And if another guy ever put the moves on me, I'd knock his teeth out," Jon went on, because that much was true.

Richie smiled a little, but still wouldn't look at him.

"And I, uh, I wanna touch you," Jon said, feeling his cheeks start to burn. "But it doesn't … Part of me feels like I shouldn't."

"OK," Richie said again.

"But isn't that all right?" Jon repeated, scooting a little closer. "I'm allowed to feel more than one thing, right?"

Richie finally looked at him and smiled wanly. "Sure."

He leaned over and kissed Jon on the forehead. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad."

Jon sighed. "I'm not mad. Are you?"

Richie shook his head. "It was a dumb question. I probably shouldn't watch _The Facts of Life_ anymore. It's too thought-provoking."

He flashed a wider smile, and Jon tried to return it. "I think that's probably true," he agreed.

Richie turned onto his back again. "We should get some sleep," he murmured.

"Yeah," Jon said, watching him. "Can I stay here?"

Richie glanced at him, looking a little surprised. "Sure. It's your bed, right?"

"Yeah," Jon said again.

He lay awake for a while longer, listening to Richie breathe beside him. If he inched a little closer before he drifted off, that was fine. There was no one else to see it.


End file.
